


Eliot Spencer Gets a Puppy

by kissofcinnamon



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissofcinnamon/pseuds/kissofcinnamon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason for everything Eliot Spencer does, and he never lies to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eliot Spencer Gets a Puppy

There's a reason for every choice that Eliot Spencer makes about the way he lives. A reason he always buys and renovates a house on at least five acres, his nearest neighbors more than a gunshot-range distance away. A reason that his property is subtly rigged with tells: from conventional alarms to much harder to read evidence that someone or something has invaded his space. There's no gate in his fence. No driveway. And the barricade around the boundary of his property is far enough off the road and covered with enough greenery that it's not easily recognizable as chain link.

There's a reason his houses are built (or reinforced) with double walls of brick sandwiching solid hardwood between them. That his "bedroom" consists of a shelf in one of those walls, the floor and roof just as secure as the three walls around it. The mattress just fits, no extra space, but there are a couple of cubbies built into one of those walls that hold his favorite knife, his phone, wallet, and keys to his truck and the storage unit under three different shell companies that holds his bug-out kit.

There's a reason that he lives off the grid, his generator in a tamper-proof bunker under the dirt, the wires that keep him in power when he needs it protected by layers of concrete.

There's a reason.

It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you. Especially when some of those "theys" are the most dangerous killers in the world.

Normally he's happy to be there by himself. It's good to get away from the team: the nonsensical patter from Parker and the non-stop geek "top this" chatter from Hardison, Sophie's not-so-subtle manipulation and Nate's quiet domination or foul temper, depending on the day. He likes getting outside in his garden to nurture his sun-nourished plants as much as he relishes spending time in the dark, quiet underground hydroponic back up vegetable supply and fish hatchery accessible from a tunnel in his basement.

But even Eliot Spencer will tell you that sometimes he gets lonely.

Tonight was one of those nights, and he wandered out to flop down onto his outdoor loveseat, the crackling of the fire pit and chirping of the crickets joining with the mid-fall breeze to try to lull him into as deep a sense of peace as he ever finds.

He stopped the lift of the bottle halfway to his lips when he heard the first soft whimper. His brows came together, and he went into that preternaturally still place, his senses firing on all cylinders.

There. He heard it again, off to his left about nine o'clock. A soft sound. A miserable sound. His protective instincts recognized an animal in pain, and he quickly stripped off his flannel shirt and stood up, stalking the small package huddled in the grass.

He caught it quickly but infinitely gently, wrapping the trembling, way too thin pup—clearly a mix of several breeds with fuzzy fur and non-descript markings—in his shirt to protect both of them. He needn't have bothered. The pup didn't have the energy to do little more than thunk its exhausted head against Eliot's chest.

It was a long night. After checking the tiny, pitiful mass of fleas and mud for more grievous injuries, broken teeth and signs of abdominal stress, Eliot whispered sweet nothings to the little furry fighter as he subjected him to the frightening indignity of a warm, soapy sink bath.

The teeth that caught his finger at one point spoke to the food Eliot would work on getting into the small beast. Past the Pablum stage, he pureed some vegetables and meat into a paste, started a hydrating IV and settled into a chair by the fire. The next few hours would make a big difference. Success or failure, the pup wouldn't be alone.

Eighteen hours and three tiny meals later, a warm, wet assault against Eliot's shirt actually made him smile. "There you go," he encouraged, shifting the quilt he'd been covered with away from his lap to protect it while the puppy finished.

Another patient trip to the bathroom to clean them both, Eliot settled the mutt on the kitchen counter in a ray of light from the window while he worked on more of the nourishing, mineral and fat rich food. The puppy was starting to show signs of curiosity. "Don't go walking off the edge, there, Sundance."

Eliot frowned at himself but only for a moment. He chuckled when he realized the name fit and he was all right with it, but he jerked himself up short. "Don't get comfortable here. I'm just getting you healthy and then it's off to a real home."

The puppy yawned, clearly not concerned. Eliot glanced over again, hesitating, watching. And he finally smiled. He made it a practice never to lie to himself. Yeah. Okay. Sundance wasn't going anywhere.


End file.
